


Up the Wooden Hill

by Arati_Mhevet



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, notes from the Cardassian underground
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arati_Mhevet/pseuds/Arati_Mhevet
Summary: After 'The Dogs of War'. Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	Up the Wooden Hill

**Up the Wooden Hill**

A little after sunset, Mila made her usual rounds of the house. Most of the rooms had been closed for years, but she checked each one in turn; looked at the shapes of the beds and chairs and tables, all covered in cloths. Hard to believe what this place had been like, once upon a time, full of powerful men making great decisions. What good had that done them, any of them, in the end?

She moved slowly along the hall towards the study. At the door she stopped and peered in. Someone was sitting at the desk. It took her a moment to place him: well, it had been years, hadn’t it? Seven? Eight? She came quietly into the room and her son looked up at her. “Oh, Elim,” she said. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“Not tonight.”

He turned back to the console. She came in and lowered herself in the armchair beside him. “You shouldn’t sit in the dark using that thing. You’ll ruin your eyes.”

“My eyes are the least of my worries.”

“Shall I put the light on for you?”

“No. Better not to draw attention to the house.”

She rested her head back and watched him work. Always clever, this one. Perhaps if he’d been a little less clever, she might have been able to keep him with her longer. “What are you looking for?”

“Anything that might help.”

With this rebellion. Madness. Better to lie low. Keep to the shadows. “All you’ll find is old secrets,” she said. “Everyone’s dead now.”

“Not me.” But it wasn’t long before he abandoned his efforts, closing the console with a sigh. No surprise. She had done a good job cleaning up there. It was what she was for, after all.

“What happened, in the end?” she said.

“His enemies took him, and he died.”

“Did you find him?”

He gave her a reproving look. _Mila, remember who you’re talking to._

“And did you make your peace?”

“I suppose we did, after a fashion. He told me I was a luxury he couldn’t afford.” Well, that certainly sounded like him. He’d probably said something too about killing her.

He stood up and began to pace restlessly around the room, coming to a halt in front of one of the bookcases. He ran his fingers along the spines. What would he choose? Preloc, she imagined.

“He never read half of those,” she said. “I would come in here and move dust around. I used to wonder what they were here for. Show, I suppose.”

“I read them.”

“Yes, well, you were always too clever for your own good.”

“Neither of you was ever satisfied,” he said, without rancour. “I have done the best I could with what I was given.”

With an effort, she pulled herself up from the chair. She came to stand beside him. Eight years. She leaned her head against his shoulder. He stiffened at first, ever so slightly, and then relaxed. They stood for a while like that, staring at the books. What, she wondered, had she wanted for him? To be happy? Fulfilled? Loved? Mostly, she had wanted him to survive.

In the street outside, lights flared. He frowned. Gently, she brushed the back of her fingers along his face. “Go back down to your friends, _peti_ ,” she said. “I’ll bring you supper.”

He picked the Preloc from the shelf, tucking it neatly under his arm. “ _Sasi_ ,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek, “it’s good to be home.”

* * *

_23 rd November 2020_

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the song [Up the Wooden Hill to Bedfordshire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-DBli0tWXM), sung by Vera Lynn.
> 
> "Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire  
> Heading for the land of dreams  
> When I look back to those happy childhood days  
> Like yesterday it seems  
> It was grand my mother held my hand  
> Daddy was the old gee gee  
> The old wooden hill was the old wooden stair  
> And Bedfordshire the cot where I knelt to say my prayer  
> Climbing up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire  
> They were happy happy days for me"


End file.
